


Disconnected

by Dullard



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Comedy, Immortality, Temporary Character Death, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26452630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dullard/pseuds/Dullard
Summary: The first time Heavystep died was actually back in the old territory - which was not too distinct from the new one, now that he thought about it. Flat lands by pastures that belonged to the Twolegs, occupied by horses. The main difference was the inclusion of trees by a much bigger body of water than he had thought he would ever see. Some other “news”, too, he guessed - new fish, new air, new borders. Big whoop.It’s amazing how quickly things become boring when you know you’re going to wake up every single day in the same place without question for StarClan knows how long.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	Disconnected

**Author's Note:**

> "As well as being responsible for the good parts of Warriors, like the Clans, the names, the complicated storylines, I am also responsible for the mistakes. Yes, Rowanclaw is a she-cat before he turns up as the father of Tawnypelt’s kits. Yes, Heavystep dies three times (though I secretly want to do a Super Edition in which we discover he was given nine lives by StarClan for a very special reason!)." - Vicky Holmes, former editor of Warriors. 
> 
> Just a fun expansion of this idea.

The first time Heavystep died was actually back in the old territory - which was not too distinct from the new one, now that he thought about it. Mostly flat lands by pastures that belonged to the Twolegs, occupied by horses. The main difference was the inclusion of trees by a much bigger body of water than he had thought he would ever see. Some other “news”, too, he guessed - new fish, new air, new borders. Big whoop.

It’s amazing how quickly things become boring when you know you’re going to wake up every single day in the same place without question for StarClan knows how long.

Regardless.

It was a horse that got him the first time. He had been an apprentice, stupid and over-confident with the adrenaline brought about by being allowed to hunt on his own for the first time. He’d decided to catch Blackclaw off-guard by hunting a rabbit that he had scented on the wind graciously blowing his way. RiverClan did not teach their apprentices how to hunt on the land beyond the basic “crouch, crawl, catch” technique all cats learned from their mentors or their mothers, or developed by instinct. Luckily, Heavypaw had a sharp memory (something he would come to properly realize much later) and he could almost perfectly mimic what he had been taught, adding on what he had witnessed ThunderClan cats performing near Sunningrocks.

It was perfect, he thought. Make everyone quit remarking about him being too “big” (as they so politely put it) to sneak around and run for long distances (which he _could do,_ he just chose _not_ to, thank you kindly, it’s not like fish really care how far you can run anyway). They’d be shocked into silence when he returned with prey bigger than some of the fish his Clanmates brought home with those self-satisfied smirks they always had on. Let’s see them try to come up with a funny remark this time, eh?

And so the hunt began, and Heavypaw decided to selectively ignore how long it took him to track down the rabbit. The thing was already jumpy when he did find it, being separated from its brethren by a gorge and out in the open. It didn’t look like a regular rabbit, as Heavystep recalled. It was paler and had white patches all over it, and it was immensely fat (a single comparison to him by anyone and he’d force this thing’s puffy tail down their throat). It smelled like Twolegs, which was a convenient explanation for anything weird that happened in this territory.

Those wacky Twolegs, with their weirdly colored pets and shiny trinkets that made delightful crinkling noises when chewed on. Love those crazy characters. When would _they_ lose their homes and die out?

Heavypaw only charged the rabbit when he was close enough, and he just barely missed the jump, sending his quarry diving to the right and taking off towards the Twoleg den. Heavypaw was after it at a speed that impressed himself ( _don’t be surprised,_ he thought, _you could always do this. Be proud._ ). The two of them tore through the plush grass, blurs of various shades of brown. The rabbit was wild with fright, but it was slower than Heavypaw thought rabbits usually were. Definitely Twolegs at work here, then.

They crossed quickly into the horses’ part of the territory, and the rabbit made the mistake of skidding to a halt when it turned a corner and saw a horse for the first time, grazing obliviously. Heavypaw caught up to his prey, tackled it, and bit down on the neck as hard as he could. His throat and chest burned with the effort of sprinting for longer than one should reasonably do (except where ego was concerned, obviously), but he held on tight until the rabbit stopped kicking and went limp. He dropped it to catch his breath and stared down at his quarry with a grin that was more like a dog baring its teeth than a proper expression of joy.

He was _so_ going to rub this in Shadepaw’s face. When did that slim bugger ever catch a rabbit? Never, that’s when. RiverClan was going to name him as a warrior for this, if he got lucky.

He did get lucky, but not in the way he had expected.

The rush of his victory crackled like fire in his heart, and giddiness only partially brought on by being deprived of air swirled around in his head. He started bouncing in place, breathily giggling, then full on laughing. It was as if he hadn’t run at all – suddenly he was jumping all over without actually giving his body permission to do anything, laughing his tail off. It was pure elation running through his veins, and he happily let his system get it out however it cared to.

Unfortunately, there happened to be a horse walking past him, and when he bounced backwards, he bumped into its rear leg.

What Heavystep remembered best was a very sharp crack of a hoof colliding against his skull and an instant of pain unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He hit the ground with barely a heartbeat of time to reflect on his mistake before everything went black and silent.

When he woke up, he felt fine, with not even a sliver of discomfort in his head or burning in his chest. He sat up, blinking hard against the still-bright day (though it looked like sunhigh now, when it had been early in the morning when he caught the rabbit). He looked around for the aggressing horse, but it was long gone. His rabbit, at least, was still there in the shade of a bush, so he dismissed his accident, picked up his catch and went home.

His return was rewarded with high praise and the shock on the other apprentices’ faces when he smugly deposited the rabbit in the fresh-kill pile. He never mentioned to anyone what had happened with the horse, only described his hunt with a pawful of embellishment and took the prey straight to the elders’ den, tail waving proudly.

The second time he died was in the new territory, and this was because of something in his side paining the daylights out of him. Kidneys or something, he guessed, whatever that was. He just bought the nonsense the kittypet medicine cat was saying and resigned himself to his fate. She kept insisting that it was possible for him to survive, if he retired early and took it easy – which was rot, because he had barely begun to be a warrior when this disease hit him, and he did not feel like being cheaped out of his time to contribute to his Clan.

Leopardstar, sadly, was feeling unusually compassionate that day, so she talked him into an elder ceremony, during which he made a point to look as morose as possible.

“Is it your wish to give up the name of a warrior and go to join the elders?” she had said.

“Not really,” he had replied, “but sure.”

Leopardstar’s face had been entertaining. She ground out the rest of the ceremony’s script while glaring him down and the Clan awkwardly called his name. Heavystep did his best to walk like a spritely young apprentice on his way to the elder’s den.

Being an elder was pretty alright. You got food delivered right to you by apprentices, who also cleaned out your fur and had to listen to your stories. Heavystep didn’t have any stories that he was interested in sharing, so he just slept all day and tried to ignore the growing stabs of pain in his side.

Kidneys. Love those things.

He was actually wide awake, just like before, but it was at moonhigh. The pain was so intense that he was having trouble remembering if the horse’s kick had hurt more, which was hard because he was barely able to think straight. He couldn’t even shuffle in his nest without wanting to cry out against the agony. He shut his eyes tight and tried to force himself to sleep.

Things went black again, just as abruptly as before. This time, however, he saw a faint glow opposite him in the void of his mind, or dream, or wherever rotting place this was. The rest of his senses were completely deprived of feedback – all he had was that dim light to stare at and contemplate.

He woke up in the morning, as he always did, and the pain was gone. Ripplepaw was gently nudging him with concern in his eyes.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said. “I thought you were dead for a moment! You weren’t even breathing.”

Heavystep, not sure exactly what to do with that, simply smiled and waved off the apprentice’s concern with the excuse that he was dreaming deeply. Later that day, he tried to tell Leopardstar that he was ready to become a warrior again, but her philanthropy had regressed and she refused his wishes. Something about “being careful with your health”, she said, which meant she didn’t want to lose face and prove herself to be wrong in front of everyone.

The third time gave him no choice but to notice a pattern, given that he woke up in a grave.

He had been suffering from greencough for the past half-moon, and it had steadily gotten worse despite Mothwing’s best attempts to cure him. Out of all of his Clanmates who had caught it, he was grateful to be the only one that was declining at such a severe rate. Better him than any of the apprentices, he thought, and he held on to that even as it became impossible to breathe without enormous effort and his Clanmates had to keep away from him to avoid getting sick too, leaving him to suffer alone in the medicine den.

One morning, he had managed to fall asleep in the patient’s nest after a harsh and wet coughing session. Unusually for a sleeping person, he had a few heartbeats of being in darkness before that glow came again, brighter than before. He squinted, trying to deduce what it could be. He wanted to say it looked a little like a cat, but perhaps that was just his mind inventing things. This time, though, he heard something – a very faint sort of drone that almost sounded like someone trying to speak through moss.

When he woke again, he had grass and dirt in his mouth.

His first instinct was to violently kick and scrabble, and that may have saved him (not that he really needed saving at this point, he later reminisced). The soil was loose and in a thin layer, allowing him to jolt upright when he caught the light of the full moon. He spat out his mouthful of nature and coughed what little of it had made it into his throat – but now he noticed that he was breathing fine, feeling no urge to expel wetness from his chest. In fact, he felt exactly as well has he had after waking up from the horse kick and the spasms of his internal organs.

“Alright,” he said to the empty clearing around him.

He trotted back to camp, trying and failing to come up with a story for why he was fine after being dead for half a day and getting buried without so much as a snore to indicate he was just asleep. It occurred to him eventually that he didn’t really _need_ a story beyond “I dunno, but I’m okay now, crazy, right?”, but he wanted an explanation as much as anyone else would.

Whatever. He’d figure it out later.

The Clan collectively made a noble effort to not freak out at a dead cat strolling into their camp like nothing had happened. They failed, but it was a good try.

Heavystep was surrounded on all sides, drowning in waves of apologies, demands to why he didn’t wake up before, and amazed declarations that StarClan was looking out for him. He coolly replied to everyone he could, reassuring them that he felt perfectly fine and that he wasn’t upset at all.

Casually glancing around the crowd, he noticed a terrified Mothwing. The poor thing looked like she was ready to be hit or screamed at for allowing this to happen. Preemptively, Heavystep approached her, still keeping his tone casual and calm.

“I must have been sleeping quite deeply to catch all of you off-guard like this,” he said. “Either that or StarClan thought they’d pull a little joke on our medicine cat, eh?”

Mothwing took the opportunity he presented to her and nodded frantically. “Right, yes, StarClan. We’ll have to thank them for bringing you back to us.”

“It must have been StarClan,” Stonestream remarked in awe, coming up to his mentor with a headbump to the shoulder. “We were so sure you were dead. We shook you and yelled at you, and you didn’t wake up at all.”

Heavystep tilted his head back and forth, humming in thought. “Well, whatever that was all about, I feel fine now. Maybe that last coughing fit and some real heavy sleep got the greencough out of me.”

“Maybe so,” Mothwing agreed, smiling like she had claws at her throat.

Heavystep waited until the next day, when everyone was either out of camp or busily chatting with each other away from the medicine den, to approach Mothwing and ask for a private conversation. She went with him to the very back of her den before turning around and sitting nervously.

“Okay,” she said, clearing her throat. “Firstly, I’m so sorry, Heavystep. I thought you-“

“I was,” he replied. “Pretty sure I was, at least.”

Mothwing blinked stupidly, blindsided. Her response was delayed and halting. “But- how, then- you-“

“StarClan could’ve done it,” Heavystep said. “You can ask them about that, can’t you? They’ll have an answer if we can’t come to one.”

Mothwing struggled for words – struggled so hard, in fact, that she didn’t do more than open and shut her mouth multiple times.

“If it makes you feel better, this has happened before,” Heavystep said, keeping his voice low. “Before you were born, when I was an apprentice, I got my head cracked open by a horse, and then when we moved here…you remember that kidney thing you were telling me about? That got me too.”

He wished there was some way to perfectly capture an image of Mothwing’s face beyond his memory. Her pretty face was distorted by a delightful mix of intense confusion and, hilariously, outrage, as if he was coming back from the dead to spite her.

“You mean you’ve died twice on my watch?” she finally managed.

“If that’s what you want to take away from this world-shattering revelation, sure.” Heavystep’s tail waved noncommittally in the air, curling and uncurling. “My actual point is that I want to ask you what StarClan has to say about this. They wouldn’t give a normal warrior nine lives, would they?”

Again, that struggle to say something. “It- well, j- I me-“

“Look, you don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he interrupted. “I just want one at some point. If you can’t get one now, get one at the Moonpool when you go there. That sound fair?”

Mothwing’s reaction to this was entirely silent, but incredibly perplexing. Her eyes darted in every direction, her mouth twitched nervously, and her golden fur gradually fluffed up. It was like such a simple task was too much for the one cat qualified to do the job.

What she said next, Heavystep noted, completely derailed the conversation.

She leaned forward, hissing, “Leopardstar told everyone at the Gathering that you died.”

Heavystep’s initial reaction was not, as it probably should have been, shock or anger. He instead threw his head back and laughed so hard and so loud that he could hear conversation in the rest of camp dying in surprise.

“That’s not something to laugh about, Heavystep!” Mothwing half-whispered, half-cried out, which was a very interesting mixture of volume. “What’s so funny about-“

“Leopardstar-“ Heavystep lowered his head again to hide his muzzle in his paw, speaking between gasps of laughter. “She – must be – so embarrassed – stars above-“

“But now everyone thinks you’re _dead!”_ Mothwing snapped, still trying to be loud and quiet at the same time. “How can we explain that away?!”

Heavystep tried to force himself to reduce his laugh to a chuckle so he could catch his breath, but the look on Mothwing’s face nearly sent him howling again. He cleared his throat and managed to get out a calm reply. “They’ll forget about it by the next Gathering. How many of them even knew who I am before then? I could be on a patrol tomorrow and they’d just dismiss me as a random RiverClan warrior.”

“Well, you’re not a warrior,” Mothwing corrected. “You’re an elder. You wouldn’t be out on patrol.”

“Which makes this that much easier, no?” Heavystep tilted his head with a confident wink. “I barely ever leave camp now. No one has any reason to mention me, unless it’s some apprentice trying to impress their friends from another Clan.”

“Well…” Mothwing’s eyes moved around the den again. She was visibly thinking as hard as possible. Heavystep politely waited until she looked back up at him and nodded, but she still didn’t look that confident. “I guess Leopardstar doesn’t have to correct herself unless asked.”

“There you go.” Heavystep stood up. “And you just have to talk to StarClan at some point to get an answer.”

What little self-assurance that was on Mothwing’s face vanished.

She never got back to him on the StarClan thing, even after multiple reminders and queries. Her main excuse was that StarClan just wasn’t talking to her, which Heavystep only bought after she suggested that he go with her to the Moonpool and try to speak to them himself. Leopardstar agreed to let them go before it was halfmoon or a Gathering night in the hopes that StarClan would be receptive to speaking with them in private.

The Moonpool was pretty, Heavystep had to admit, even past a first glance. The pool mirrored the stars in the sky perfectly, the reflections almost shining brighter than the real deals. The air seemed to cool around the water, and the only way down to it that felt respectful was a small, clean path with the imprints of paws peppering the ground along it and the edge of the pool. It felt like there were cats sitting around the shore, whispering to each other and watching the two living visitors carefully. One would be reasonable in being afraid to be here with these invisible hosts.

But Heavystep, having the experiences he did, felt not a bit of fear. What would they do, kill him if he sneezed?

Good luck with that, boys.

Still, he stayed quiet and obeyed Mothwing’s instructions to drink a little of the water (which was freezing and nearly made him cough from the sudden drop in temperature) and lay down, nearly touching the water with his nose. He shut his eyes and waited to fall asleep while Mothwing’s breathing slowed and deepened beside him.

Now, he hadn’t spoken with StarClan before. He didn’t know who their preferred representatives were, or if he was going to see someone he knew once or a random spirit who would dispense knowledge to him. He expected, at least, something from the stories he’d heard as a kit – an elegant and entrancing cat with stars shining in their pelt and a faint glow around their silhouette, standing in a field that smelt of the wild and clean grass while the cool wind gently curled around them and the stars shone bright enough that the moon wasn’t needed to see.

What he didn’t expect was to open his eyes into that familiar void and be confronted with perhaps the ugliest son of a toad he had ever seen in his life sitting across from him. This thing was wrinkly and worm-pink and hairless, with blind, bulging eyes threatening to fall out of their sockets and claws that were so long that they looped around each other and bent into frayed ends. It took Heavystep a moment to recognize that he was looking at a cat at all, and that alone nearly made him physically ill.

The two of them regarded each other silently for a while, this creature’s tail tapping the void-floor slowly to the rhythm of Heavystep’s heartbeat, and Heavystep trying very hard to think of something nice to say while not gagging at the gruesome sight before him.

The naked cat spoke first. “Interesting.”

Heavystep grimaced and nodded. “Sure is.”

The cat’s tail continued its rhythm. Tap-tap, tap-tap. “I have lived a very long time, Heavystep of RiverClan. I have seen the past and the future of every member of your community and lineage, from their ancestors that started at this lake to the end of the four Clans in times bloody and dark.”

“Uh-huh,” said Heavystep.

“There are cats beyond counting that I have witnessed the beginning and end of. The unborn kits who die in the bellies of their mothers. The elders who outlive multiple leaders. Everyone in between. I see the sparkle in the eyes of their ancestors that bless them with life before they are even a thought in a queen's mind, and I see their bones degrade into dust in their graves.”

“Right.”

The tail’s tapping grew a little miffed. “I see everyone’s past and future, and not once in the eons of my existence have my visions been wrong. What I witness happens, every single time. If I see them die because of a fox, they will die because of a fox, in the exact part of the forest and time of day I had a vision of. Everyone is born and killed perfectly in tune to the future I have seen.

“Except for you.”

Alright, they might as well go down this route.

“You were supposed to die as a kit,” the cat went on. “You were frail, and it was a cold leaf-bare. At one point, you fell asleep and your mother did not think you were going to wake up. But you lived, and you grew strong and fat in the days afterward.” The cat somehow managed to narrow his eyes, his lids barely squeezing them into place. “And that state did not leave you, it seems.”

“Har har.” Heavystep hoped this cat could feel his withering glare.

“I saw you at your apprentice ceremony.” Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, with a bit more attitude than before. “I tried to see your future again, and this time I saw you die from a kick to the head.”

“I mean, I kinda did,” Heavystep said. “Then I woke up.”

“Yes,” the cat growled. “You did. You woke up. Then I saw you lose your life to your own body. Then you woke up again.”

“And then the greencough.”

“Correct.”

Heavystep nodded – a pointless gesture, he quickly realized, so he spoke instead. “So do you have an answer for me? Or can I talk to someone else from StarClan?”

“I am not from StarClan,” the cat said. “I am only here because they cannot talk to you.”

Heavystep blinked.

“You are an anomaly to all of us. StarClan, the ancestors before them, and those of us from the dawn of time.”

“There are more of you?”

The cat’s bent whiskers twitched sardonically. “Two of us, at least.”

“Mhm.” Heavystep shifted his weight onto his haunches and sighed. “So what I’m getting is that you don’t have an answer for me either.”

“Not one you are seeking, no,” the cat said. “Not the ‘why’. I know this. You are disconnected from the dead – only I can reach you, and even then, it took me several tries and a direct line to your mind. More than that, you seem to be disconnected from death itself. Your body rests for as long as it takes to heal you, and then you wake again, better than before. I do not think even old age will chase you down in time.”

“Sick,” Heavystep said.

The cat’s tail lashed once, twice, then resumed its heartbeat-tapping, back to how it was before. “You are the single point of darkness in the light of time, fool. Your possibilities are endless. Take this a little seriously.”

“You know, I’m not so sure that I have to,” Heavystep said. “If you’re right, I can do whatever I want, and not taking this seriously is my first decision.” He paused, thinking. “The bummer is that I’m going to be stuck in RiverClan’s elder’s den forever, if that’s the case.”

The cat tilted his wrinkly head. “Are you?”

Then Heavystep woke up.

Mothwing was still asleep, and the stars were just beginning to fade in the sky. Heavystep sat up, forcing himself to be calm before he could be anything else. He looked down into the pool and saw the stars and sky, but now it just felt like what it was: a simple reflection.

Heavystep looked upwards to the real thing, contemplating. His eyes drifted between stars, aimlessly wandering as he thought.

That cat could’ve been a liar, he acknowledged, but if what he said was true, then Heavystep had to think long-term. Old age wouldn’t kill him, so that meant that he was going to watch all of his Clanmates die from the elder’s den. They’d have kits, sure, but those kits were going to grow up and get old and die too. He would be stuck in the neverending cycle of generations as a fixed point. He couldn’t have kits himself – aside from being ranked as an elder, he knew he couldn’t bear outliving his children. In a Clan that would constantly change, he was going to be by himself forever.

_Are you?_

Heavystep lowered his eyes and gazed out towards what he could see of WindClan’s territory. There were things far beyond the hills, he knew, and beyond the lake. Every direction was a new point when you got far enough. The trees and slopes did a good job of blocking the Clans from the outside world, even with a place as clean and flat as RiverClan’s territory. Where did those rivers go? Where did they end?

_Stop that,_ he told himself sharply. _You’re a loyal RiverClan member. This is the community that fed you and taught you how to survive. You’re staying right here._

_Are you?_

Mothwing, thankfully, woke up before he could answer that question.

“Anything?” she said, yawning.

Heavystep opened his mouth, then sighed and shook his head. “Thanks for taking me anyway.”

“I’m sorry.” Mothing stood up and stretched. “Maybe you’ll get an answer from them one day.”

Not bloody likely, but at least she was trying to be supportive.

Heavystep wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t tell her anything. He didn’t tell anyone else either. He supposed that explaining his “dream” was going to get him labeled as insane or cursed, but that logic only came to him a few days after the meeting with that weirdo in his sleep. The time before that, he was thinking deeply.

He told himself, over and over, that there was no place in the world for him except in this Clan, with everyone he knew and loved (that were going to die eventually and leave him on earth alone). That this territory (unchanging, endlessly open, smelling of the same smells over and over) was his home and sanctuary. That the outside was unfamiliar and dangerous (he was going to wake up from anything for forever). Who was to say that the naked cat was right? Maybe the next time he died, he was going to die for good. Maybe he wanted to be buried with his community and family. Maybe StarClan was going to welcome him into their ranks with a few headbumps and a comment that boy, he really took his time, didn’t he? Crazy lad. Made us worry you were never coming up here.

_Are you?_

One more death, Heavystep eventually decided. If he died one more time and got to StarClan, that would decide things for him. If not…

Well, he couldn’t keep frightening his Clanmates, could he?

And the other Clans didn’t need to know about him, did they?

And that slope the web of streams went down was looking awfully inviting, wasn’t it?

So Heavystep waited. He took it easy, managing to convince Leopardstar to let him take walks around the territory (“it’s just good for my health, you see”), hunting when no one was looking at him. He ate, and talked, and listened to stories. He went to Mothwing when he was sick, and took the medicine she told him to. Even when RiverClan was temporarily forced from their home, he played it safe and stuck with them on the island. He didn’t rush things. He took his time.

It was coming eventually.

But stars _above,_ was he bored waiting.

Every day seemed to drag out longer and longer, the sun taunting him by crawling through the sky at a slower pace with every passing cycle and the moon grinning at him as it waxed, until it was full and like an open mouth laughing at his frustration. When RiverClan returned to their camp, Heavystep barely managed three days of sitting in this same clearing, watching life go by without him, until he started going for walks again. Perhaps he was patrolling all by himself along the border, all day. No one else could argue that, though, could they? _They_ didn't see him.

It was strange, he thought. He was annoyed with his Clanmates for risking their lives on every patrol and encounter with another predator, but for entirely selfish reasons – _he_ wanted to be the one in danger. The younger cats still had seasons and seasons ahead of them, sure, and he didn’t want them to die pointlessly and not get the chance to come back. But that wasn’t the actual reason for his desire.

He didn’t want to think about what the real reason was, even though it was staring right into his eyes and making rude faces at him.

_One more death,_ he reminded himself every evening. _Just be patient_. _It’ll be coming eventually._

And, one day, it did.

In the midst of greenleaf, a dog got loose from the Twolegplace that was only occupied in those warm months. Heavystep was alone on one of his walks when it scented him. Perhaps it wasn’t just his weight that caused him to run too slowly to escape the dog. All he knew was that it grabbed him by the neck and shook him so hard that he felt a crack like when the horse had hit him before everything went black.

There was no naked cat this time. Heavystep was very relieved about that.

When he woke up, the first thing he did was kick out with all four of his paws. To his utter lack of surprise, he was under the ground again. It was night, just as before, and he was entirely alone. At least he didn’t have to spit out more soil, he guessed.

He got out of his grave and shook the dirt out of his fur, considering things. He had two options present at this point: he could go back to camp and explain his situation to everyone, and live with them as the invincible elder who Leopardstar would probably be forced to allow to be a warrior again (just for practical reasons, of course), and weather all manner of questions from his Clanmates, and hide in the territory from the other Clans, who would most likely be very interested in figuring out how to make their own warriors unkillable and fight him over and over to bring him down…

Or he could get the most out of his endless time in this world.

Heavystep’s head turned back and forth slowly, eyes drinking in his moonlit stomping grounds. Gradually, he looked at the slopes that had been created by the network of streams that spilled the lake’s water down to who-knows-where.

Heavystep had heard stories of the sun-drown-place; how the land ended abruptly and the water roared and crashed into the shoreline without end.

Wonder what that place is like. Could be fun.

His Clan had already said its goodbyes, Heavystep figured, ear twitching to shed one last speck of dust. It’d be awkward and sad to go back now and just announce his intentions before departing forever (and did it have to be forever?). Leopardstar would have a fit, and Mothwing would have to face down an interrogation on why she didn’t tell anyone what she had learned. She must have been confident he was dead this time, if she hadn’t insisted on leaving him in camp to recover. Poor girl would be _so_ embarrassed.

“I’d go to the Moonpool to say goodbye to you all,” Heavystep said, lifting his head to the night sky, “but I’m pretty sure you can’t hear me anyway. If you can, though, don’t say anything to anyone, alright? Let them believe I’m gone for good.”

The stars glimmered and twinkled. Heavystep didn’t particularly care what that meant.

Just to be polite, Heavystep scooped the dirt back over the hole his Clanmates had dug for him. It barely half-filled the grave, but it would work. For a while, at least. Long enough that the Clan could assume the dog had dug him up or something. He didn’t know. He wasn’t particularly picky about the reason they cooked up for themselves.

It was the start of a beautiful twilight when Heavystep started off, paws barely skimming the ground. He trotted along the streams’ outward edge, down the hill to the Thunderpath that arched into a bridge. Feeling bold (as he should), he went right across the stinking black stone instead of going underneath in the safety of the grass. Nothing stopped him. Nothing would, not ever.

It’s a magical world, Heavystep, ol’ buddy - wild, colorful, varied beyond belief. He was ready to discover every whisker-length of it as he took the first steps into his new, never-ending life.


End file.
